


Understanding

by muselives



Category: Tron: Legacy (2010)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-02
Updated: 2011-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-13 02:57:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1210144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muselives/pseuds/muselives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything that she knows is in theory she hungers to learn in practice. [Porn Battle XI, Tron, Sam/Quorra, learning]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Understanding

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://bouncybouncy.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**bouncybouncy**](http://bouncybouncy.dreamwidth.org/)! Holy frak, it's been such a long time since I wrote fic. _Tron: Legacy_ was a great film and a fun ride. Getting the voices was a little interesting and I fought with this piece stylistically before going, "Hell with it," and letting it take me for the ride. Posted for Porn Battle [here](http://oxoniensis.dreamwidth.org/35812.html?thread=5671140#cmt5671140). Spoilers through the movies. Unbetaed.

So they're supposed to change the world and Quorra isn't a child but Sam has noticed some gaps in her education that go beyond the unpleasant realization that Jules Verne is dead. And life isn't _The Matrix_ , there are no shortcuts to education, and, hell, he's got his hands busy fixing the mess that is ENCOM. Maybe she's... God's gift to man, a digital revolution crossed over into reality, but given the fact that she's still counting sunrises? Yeah, he's not ready to throw her to the wolves just yet. 

He still has his grandparent's house (one of the perks of having lots of money and a vice grip on the past). It's two bedrooms, only one bath, but still a bit nicer then his fairly lean bachelor pad. Having things like a stove and lockable doors will be good as Quorra adapts to the real world--and as Sam adapts to her. Sharing living quarters with another person? It's been a while, not quite college but close.

And she's not another person, not exactly. "I'm a program, Sam," she says with an innocent smile. So there are those unpleasant moments when she gets her first paper cut, the strange morning that she wakes him up to show him her first bruise (he almost had a heart attack when she started lifting her shirt), that tense moment in the kitchen when she burns her hand and cries as he tries to apply baking soda paste as gently as he can.

"You're not just a program," he tells her, her hand resting between both of his. "You're something more."

Like his father said, she's amazing. Everything that she knows is in theory she hungers to learn in practice. That first night they just sat on the couch and talked about anything that came to mind, her more than him. She told him she wants knowledge and experience. He made a joke about _The Fifth Element_ and got a blank stare, a stark reminder of her lacking cultural education. He gave her his laptop, and he bought her a cell phone and an e-reader. Practice will come with time and she has plenty. He figures every day that he's at ENCOM she can self-educate. Anything she wants, he'll give her, he makes that abundantly clear.

But what she craves, Sam quickly discovers, are books. "I like the feel of them," she confesses right before she climbs on the back of his bike.

Reflections on the merits of being tactile are really not in his favor when Quorra is pressed up against him, arms around his waist, hands given to the slightest urge to wander when he least expects it. Tactile, he thinks, staring hard at the road; it figures.

He takes her to the library, sets her loose, and learns his lesson right up front. Four hours waiting for her in the cafe and she got no further then the first set of shelves, sitting in the aisle, her knees curled to her chest, starting her second book of the evening. He had to admit it was almost worth it for that moment when he explained how borrowing works and her eyes went wide, all full of wonder. The next time they go she brings a backpack and stuffs it full. The librarians start greeting her by name.

He never knows what she'll be reading when he comes home. One day it's _Around the World in Eighty Days_ , the next it's Aristotle, the pick for the day after that has the Oprah book club logo on its duster. Her tastes are eclectic and she devours every word.

The moment he opens the door, she's there, ready to talk his ear off. He learns after the first day it's his presence, not his comprehension, that she's asking for. Twice she falls asleep on the couch talking herself long after they're done with dinner and Sam carries her to bed and tucks her in. The third time, he's so exhausted from his own day that he passes out before her. He wakes up with her legs stretched over his lap, his arm resting on top of them. He institutes an informal bed time after that, going to his room while they both have energy to move, promising to listen to the rest of her stories over breakfast.

He's just trying to be careful. He has no idea what he's into here; cautious just seems the safest mode to assume.

That mindset gets a sharp kick into overdrive when he comes home one night and she's not there. "Quorra?" He steps into the house, setting down his messenger bag, eyes sweeping the hall. This is the first time she hasn't been where he could see her, the only time he's spoken first after he's walked in the door. Adrenaline hits his system and his mind starts throwing out the worst case scenarios. He raises his voice a little as he heads towards her room. "Quorra, you here?"

Then she's right in front of him, damn near runs into him, and when she steps back--

He tries not to stare but she's staring at him and god help him, she's only wearing a t-shirt that barely comes to her thighs. Her arms fold around her middle defensively, only making matters worse as it pulls the loose material flat against her curves. Sam tries to yank his gaze up from her chest but it turns out the view there is no safer. Her pupils are blown and she's breathing just hard enough for it to be obvious.

And just like that, he's as turned on as she is.

"Hey." His voice has dropped but not enough to fool himself. He clears his throat and asks reflexively, needlessly, "You OK?"

He doesn't expect her to shake her head, certainly doesn't expect the knot that forms in his stomach with that response. "I was trying to understand. The book I was reading, it... it made me feel strange." The way Quorra looks at him just before she drops her eyes says more than that vast understatement ever could. When he doesn't respond, she adds quietly, "I tried to do research online and... and I think I gave your computer a virus."

Oh, excellent. As if this whole situation wasn't tense enough, now Sam has a nice mental B roll of Quorra on his computer 'studying' porn. His eyes roll closed and he tries not to groan.

Just when he has enough composure to look at her again, his eyes open and she's suddenly much closer. "I just want to understand," she murmurs, her hands on his chest, sliding up towards his shoulders as her mouth collides with his.

He has no idea what Quorra knows, what she's guessing at, and what is just pure damn instinct. The kiss is naturally a little clumsy before his body gets ahead of his brain and just responds to her, one arm wrapping around her waist, one hand jumping to her bare leg. She arches against him with a little moan as his hand slides over her skin and that's when he knows fighting this is a lost cause.

She's loud and, god, it just turns him on more. Everywhere and every way he touches her makes her give up a new sound. She gives a startled little cry when her back hits the wall that quickly turns into a series of gasps and whimpers as he grinds against her, kissing his way roughly down her neck. "More," she begs, her fingers winding and dragging through his hair. Her hips roll against him and she pleads, "More, Sam, _more_."

He pulls back and all but rips off his shirt, comes back to her and puts his hands under the hem of her tee, pushing it upwards. He lingers at her breasts, massaging and teasing with the occasional scrape of his nails. She throws her hands over her head, pushing herself off the wall slightly into his touch, moaning his name. Impatient, he lifts her tee the rest of the way and throws it on the ground.

She grabs his hands and puts them back on her body. Her gaze stays on him as she guides him to touch her, dragging his palms over her torso, along her sides and hips, down to her legs. Finally re-establishing a will of its own, one of his hands breaks free from hers. Surprise flashes in her eyes, morphing quickly into aroused delight as he teases her clit, slipping his fingers into her, stroking her. Her whole body seems to rise and fall as she rides his caress, trying to catch her breath but always finding herself a little short.

He's so caught up in her response to him that he doesn't realize she's undone his button and fly until he feels her hand slide into his pants, her fingers stroking him through his boxers. It sends a jolt through him and he groans her name.

That makes her eyes go wide and she breaks into an almost ear-to-ear smile. "Do you like that?" she asks, eager, breathless.

"Holy fuck, yes," Sam gasps.

"Good."

He thinks she's just a little too smug or maybe too easy to please because she seems to get wetter just trying to get him off. He'll admit, her attempts don't have any obvious technique or finesse, but damned if that just doesn't make him harder. He's aching for her and though he knows he can get her off with just his hand, her begging is infectious. He wants _more_.

She squeaks when he picks her up and carries her to her bedroom. "I wasn't done," she protests, totally flushed, giving a little yelp before he drops her unceremoniously on the bed.

"No, we're not done," Sam promises her as he grabs his wallet. Honestly, it's been a long time since he used what he's grabbing for so he can only hope that the condom isn't going to break. She's not on the pill, he's not in the mood to find something more certain, and damn it, at least he's trying to be safe.

She watches him on the bed, shifting, touching herself nervously as she watches him finish undressing. " _Sam_."

" _Quorra_ ," he teases, imitating her turned-on, frustrated tone. He climbs onto the bed and kisses her mouth. His hands run over her legs and he lifts her towards him slightly, pushing into her shallowly, just enough to make her gasp. Grinning, he asks, "How does that feel?"

"So good," she moans, throwing her head back, eyes closed.

That makes his hips jerk slightly and she give another soft cry as he pushes into her deeper. A serious thought overtakes him, enough to hold him in check for a moment. "Quorra," he cups her cheek and urges him to look at him, saying through ragged breaths as she meets his gaze, "This part might hurt a little bit."

Her eyes, expressive as ever, flash with amusement and tenderness. She lifts both her hands to his face and gives him another beaming smile. "I know, Sam Flynn. I still want you."

Damned if he needs more encouragement then that.

Her first cry is a little pained but the ones that follow are all passion and he hears his name, compliments, encouragements, curses and expressions of amazement and disbelief. Her hands find his back and she drags her nails down his spine. All that zen 'remove yourself' training seems to go right out the window as he drives into her. She doesn't show an ounce of shame at begging, no, _demanding_ exactly what she wants from him.

And he gives it to her. He'll always give her what she wants.

Eventually, she's past words, or so he thinks until she comes hard, screaming his name. He has no hope of enduring that and he thrusts into her one last time, coming just as hard before he collapses on top of her, exhausted and utterly spent.

She recovers first, shifting underneath him with a poorly disguised giggle.

"What?" he groans, not really thinking she's laughing at him, but a little defensive at the possibility.

She looks up at him with a sleepy version of that familiar smile. "I feel amazing." Curling into his shoulder like she did that first morning on the back of his bike, still smiling, she murmurs, "Thank you, Sam. For this, for taking care of me... for everything."

He smiles slightly before leaning to press a kiss to the top of her head. "Always," he promises in a whisper, arms wrapping loosely around her as they both drift off to sleep.


End file.
